


Opportunities

by mssdare



Series: Sleeping Aid [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Kylo Ren, Enemies, Hux has had better days, Hux is Not Nice, Hux needs a coffee, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Manipulation, Movie: Star Wars: The Last Jedi, POV Hux, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-TLJ, Sleep Deprivation, Spit As Lube, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, references to possible pedophilia and / or child prostitution (very brief)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: All Hux wants is to sleep but Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is having a meltdown.





	Opportunities

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Sillygoose for the speed-beta!

Hux is so tired he’s sure his body is going to _decompose_. He can’t even remember the last time he got two standard hours of uninterrupted sleep, never mind a full six-hour rest cycle. He’s swaying on his feet, delusional, seeing and hearing things that aren’t there.

This is why he ignores the commotion coming from behind the thin wall dividing his and Ren’s quarters. It could be anything, really—a holoprojection or a wild _rathtar_ munching on Ren’s bones, for all Hux knows. But it doesn’t matter; he’s had enough for today, for years—no, for centuries really—and he’s going to lose his mind completely if he doesn’t _sleep_.

He curls up on his cot, his back to the wall, hand on his personal small blaster.

The sounds of something thrashing don’t cease; in fact they intensify. A shout follows, and Hux sighs. This isn’t what he signed up for. He curses himself for placing Ren’s rooms next to his and making the walls noise-transparent specifically to spy on Ren. He should’ve just installed a transmitter. He could turn it off and be done with this shit if he’d only installed a transmitter.

He closes his eyes, his head swirling, and wonders if he’s got a concussion after all from being thrown around yet again. But he doesn’t think so—he’s had so many head injuries in his lifetime that he’s pretty certain he can differentiate the serious ones from the minor. His ribs are only slightly bruised too. Nothing is broken. Nothing has been hurt severely this time around, other than his pride. And as the bitter taste of humiliation has been his familiar and constant companion all his life, he can’t really complain. At least he’s alive.

He wraps himself tighter in the thin grey blanket that doesn’t provide enough warmth for his tired body, and he tries to let go of everything for a moment. It’s not easy—he’s exhausted, but his muscles are shaking from the stimulants he’s been injecting into his system every several hours to keep himself alert. He should use a sedative, but he’s still not sure if the day is really over for him, and he won’t tempt fate by slipping into unconsciousness just now.

He almost manages to drift into sleep, when a sense of deep _wrongness_ jerks him awake again. He sits on the bed, blaster pointed at the door, but there’s no one there. He looks around, angry at himself for letting the illusions cloud his judgement, and then he gets it—there’s silence in the room behind the wall.

It should appease him. He lies back, but the silence is odd, terrifying. What has the rabid dog done this time around? Hux is sure that Ren has done something horrid—slit his own throat maybe. Which wouldn’t be so bad as far as Hux is concerned, would it? For once no one would choke him or toss him around. He immerses himself in this dream for a split second before he gets up, with a heavy sigh because everything hurts, and then he goes to the wall and presses his ear to the cool steel. For a second there’s nothing, and then, unmistakably, a soft sob, followed by an angry sniff and then more crying.

 _Fuck this_ , Hux thinks, and then says aloud, “Fuck. This.”

He is not going to console Ren. Not after everything he’s done to Hux. Again.

So when he stands up and puts on his greatcoat it’s for the good of the Order, not Ren. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren cannot break down now. Not when everything is still fragile and he has to secure his position. And nothing good will happen to Hux if Ren dies or goes totally mental now. Not to mention that he can’t trust Ren not to suddenly shift his loyalties and sell them to the Resistance in some kind of a shock-reaction redemptive act. It’s that last thought that makes Hux open the door and slip into the corridor. He uses his access codes to get into Ren’s quarters.

The room is a mess, and Hux has had enough of entering places after Kylo Ren’s turned them into trash heaps. This time, there aren’t sparks exploding out of a busted console, but every single piece of durasteel furniture in the room is dented and twisted, some pieces unrecognizable. And in the middle of it, lying on the floor, there’s a heap of dirty clothes and messy hair. A ball of stupid energy, looking broken and breathing unevenly.

Hux gets down to a crouch and advances slowly toward Ren’s huddled frame. He’s not reckless enough to reach out. Ren’s mind is a kriffing minefield, and Hux is never sure how to proceed, lest he ignite a whole set of explosions.

“Ren,” he says. There’s no reaction, but he hasn’t expected one. He crawls a little bit closer. He can now smell Ren’s sweat. There’s a faint scent of blood and burned clothes too.

“Supreme Leader,” he tries, but gets no reaction to that either. “Ren,” he says more forcefully.

The look he gets when Ren finally raises his head makes Hux scramble back a bit. He’s had enough choking for a fucking lifetime, and he’s going to murder Ren in his sleep if he dares to lay a fucking finger on Hux again. He swallows and composes himself. Ren soaks up strong emotions like a mop on dirty water, and no one needs to feed another meltdown here.

He doesn’t know what to ask, really. It’s obvious that Ren’s not _all right_. Actually, Ren’s never been _all right,_ he’s just worse at some moments, one of which is now.

“Can you stand?” he asks instead, not trying to hide the disgust in his voice.

Ren just looks at him. Sometimes Hux wonders if Ren’s quite sane. No, scratch that—he’s positive Ren’s lacking something in his brain, some cognitive control. He’s volatile, constantly skipping off track and shifting like dark matter—chaotic, destructive, and consuming everything that he touches.

“Come on.” Hux moves closer again, and this time he does place his hand on Ren’s shoulder. He counts it as success when Ren doesn’t flinch. “Let’s get you to bed. You need rest _._ ”

 _Just like I do_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud. Ren is pathetic like this, on his hands and knees. Hux has always thought that this is exactly how he’d like to see Ren, but he can’t gloat now. Perhaps he’s too tired himself. He grabs a handful of Ren’s tunic and pulls. He’s not physically strong enough to toss Ren around, but underneath his touch Ren complies and allows Hux to steer him toward the bed.

They never make it. Ren sits heavily on the floor next to the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets as he goes down. They fall to the floor together, adding to the mess that’s in the room.

If Hux didn’t know better, he’d say that waves of distress are emitted straight _into_ him. It hurts, and Hux rubs at his chest. Perhaps he’s sleepwalking again, imagining things. He notices Ren’s hands are all bloodied, as if he’s punched the steel walls.

“You idiot,” Hux says, and he sits next to Ren, who’s still breathing heavily, apparently not done with his tantrum, or mental breakdown, or whatever it is this time around. And Hux needs Ren to compose himself. For the Order. For Hux’s own place in it.

He wonders what it would take to calm Ren down. A shot of sedative would be a natural choice, but Ren won’t trust Hux; he won’t even allow a droid to administer him a tranquilizer. Alcohol, perhaps. But then Hux would have to share his stash of brandy with him, and he doesn’t know if Ren reacts positively to alcohol anyway.

Hux recalls the last time he and Ren fucked, way before Ren’s clumsy efforts destroyed Hux’s lifetime of work. Perhaps now’s not the best time, but then maybe it is—Hux needs to establish his position once more, and tying Ren to him in this way might actually be beneficial. And if not now, then when? Once Ren’s in his right mind again, he might not be amenable.

 _It’s whorish_ , Hux thinks, but he’s never been above using this particular way of getting what he needs, not since he discovered at the age of twelve that the prospect of getting Hux’s skinny ass to plow might get older men, powerful men, to open doors for him that he’d never dreamed of walking through. Those times are long in the past, but Ren’s another matter. With Ren, unlike with anyone else, it has been… good. Sometimes even mind-blowing, if Hux allows himself to let go during the act. Cementing his position now as Ren’s equal, or as close to equal as he can get, and finding a good way to manipulate Ren, is important. And if it gets Ren out of his head at the same time, that’s even better.

“Lie back,” he says and pushes Ren lightly, until Ren does.

Ren looks as he always does after a major tantrum—devastated, broken, beautiful. That last thing isn’t important—it’s just esthetics and it so happens that Ren’s irregular features are oddly appealing, even when Hux hates Ren so much that he wants to pass a fist through that stupid face.

Ren’s eyes are like black beads, boring into Hux’s soul as Hux undoes Ren’s belt and pulls his tunic up.

“You want to fuck now?” Ren asks. There’s so much incredulity in his voice that Hux laughs.

“Why not?” he says.

Ren swallows. He appears small and lost like that, with his black mane of hair spread on the white tangled sheet like a halo. It reminds Hux of that time he found Ren in the snow and everything was white, black, and red.

“How can you still want me? After all this?” Ren’s voice is so soft that Hux isn’t sure he’s heard it right.

He sighs. He doesn’t want _Ren_ per se. Not anymore. He wants something that Ren can give him. But he’ll get there—to wanting Ren—once they get going, and Ren doesn’t have to know. He won’t sense the difference; his wizard ways aren’t _that_ subtle.

“Just fuck me, Ren, okay?” Hux unclips his uniform and gets out of the padded undershirt that makes him appear broader, plus gives him good insulation against the cold of the space around them. It’s proved useful during combat too, as Hux likes to think of those moments when he’s jumbled around by fucking Force-users.

They don’t have lube—Hux hasn’t come prepared—so he spits into his hand and reaches behind himself, trying to open himself up enough for Ren’s cock. It’s rough and he winces, but he’s used to all kinds of pain and he’s not going to be weak about it.

Ren’s very still underneath him, but he’s hard—Hux can feel it under his thigh—and then he helps actively to push his pants down when Hux tugs on them. His hands are large on Hux’s hips, steading him when Hux lowers himself down, gasping at the stretch in his ass. He always feels as if he’s being split in half whenever he has sex with Ren, but he has to admit that he loves it. There’s nothing like this. Nothing can compare to Ren’s body underneath his, to Ren fucking surrendering to him like that, giving himself fully.

He’s too tired to go on for long—the last bits of his strength are leaving him. His legs are shaking from exertion, and he just hopes that Ren is as close as he is. Just as he’s reaching for his cock to pump it, Hux is lifted in the air—the fucking Force again—as Ren flips them over. Hux closes his eyes for a long moment, floating, weightless, enjoying each of Ren’s long, hard thrusts. He sneaks his hand in between their bodies to stroke himself again. Ren’s hand wraps around his and that’s it—the way Ren’s palm is hot and big, a perfect fit, does it for Hux who comes, opening his eyes wide to see Ren looking dazed, panting above him as he comes too.

“Get _off_ me,” Hux grits out when Ren all but collapses on him. He punches Ren for good measure and Ren rolls over on the floor.

 _And here we are again, hating each other, together in the midst of destruction, and so alone,_ Hux thinks, snorting internally at his overdramatic poetics.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t mind Ren curling next to him with his face pressed into Hux’s side like an overgrown dog. At least Hux is warmer like this. In an hour or so he’ll get up. He’ll get cleaned up, he’ll dress in freshly ironed clothes, and he’ll resume his duties. But for now, he can sleep.


End file.
